Baptism
by piperholmes
Summary: "There," Sybil breathed lazily, lounging rather unlady like against him, "Isn't that better?" Tom couldn't help but agree. Leaning against the back of the tub, his knees up, allowing her room to sit between them, as the two adults tried to fit in their tiny bathtub meant they were well and truly pressed together. The night before they leave to return to England in 3X01.


**Baptism**

**By: piperholmes**

**A/N So my husband and I agreed that today would not be an ordinary day. After some bargaining I got most of the afternoon free! After a really sweet post on Tumblr this morning from _lifedistractions_ (thank you for that!) I was inspired to write a bit of fluffy fun. Well, it turned into a bit more than fluffy fun. I hope it's not too bad, I'm not a bit M rated writer. I won't do it very often but this sort of morphed into this. Unbeta'd as usual!**

* * *

He had too much work to do.

Tom Branson shifted in the hard, unforgiving kitchen chair, which doubled as his work space, rolling his shoulders to work out the tight muscles. He had been trying to get the final copy of his latest contribution to the paper finished early, but the stubborn thing seemed to refuse to be written.

Tom tilted his head, allowing the satisfying popping noise of the bones in his neck to distract him momentarily, imagining some great relief washing over him as a bit of the tension ebbed. But it was an illusion, and soon he was once again staring at a blank page.

It wasn't that he didn't have enough to write about. Rural RIC barracks were being targeted and burned, forcing the police to move out of small towns and into the larger cities. Rumors were swirling of future strikes by the Dublin dock workers and other transpiration organizations, refusing to carry British war materials and officers. So much was happening, moving towards the goal of freedom, and yet here he sat, more creaking of the chair than clacking of the typewriter.

He was nervous, and he needed to admit it or he'd never get anywhere.

With a frustrated sigh, he forced his fingers through his hair, ruffling the strands, feeling them fall into awkward, unfamiliar positions. That's how he felt.

He didn't hear her come until he her hands glided over his shoulders and down his chest. Her head coming down so her cheek pressed against his ear as he instinctually leaned back to rest his head against her shoulder.

"It's awfully quiet in here," she observed, her hold still loose and languid.

He rolled his head just enough to place a small kiss against her skin then admitted, "I can't seem to get started on this one."

It seemed the more he tried to focus on writing, the harder it was to get the article done. He really needed to get it done. He had to turn it in early in the morning before they boarded the ferry to England. What little he received for each offering the newspaper was suppose to be what they would use as spending money on their trip. If they wanted to eat, he had to get it done.

They were quiet as she gently, slowly rocked them side to side, completely comfortable.

"I want a bath," she declared suddenly, and quite unexpectedly.

Tom had grown use to her occasional foray into non sequitir. He assumed it was a habit developed by the aristocracy, a learned behavior, as it is believed they are to be listened and deferred to at all times. Her seemingly random declarations brought a smile to his face as he learned to navigate her train of thought.

"All right," he answered simply, knowing if there was more she planned to say, she would.

Standing, she allowed her hands to reverse the trail they had followed moments previous, moving up his chest, only this time one hand moved to the back of his neck, pausing to stroke the short hairs tenderly. She shifted her body around the chair, unceremoniously wedging her body between his and the table as she plopped down in his lap.

Tom tried to keep his face stern, chastising her for interrupting his work, but the soft feel of her warmth pressed against his, as she smiled cheekily at him, made his attempts futile.

"Don't you think a bath sounds nice before we start that long trip back to England?" she hinted seductively.

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Sybil, I need to finish this."

She pouted at him, her lush lips that he adored, turned down slightly. "I don't think you're getting anywhere," she proclaimed firmly. The hand not around his neck came up and smoothed at the wrinkles of his furrowed brow. "I think a bath is just what we need. Now move."

"You're awfully bossy m'lady," he teased.

Her only response was a pointed stare.

"Yes, wife," he amended, pushing the chair back and standing with her in his arms.

* * *

"There," Sybil breathed lazily, lounging rather unlady like against him, "Isn't that better?"

Tom couldn't help but agree. Leaning against the back of the tub, his knees up, allowing her room to sit between them, as the two adults tried to fit in their tiny bathtub meant they were well and truly pressed together. Sybil's head rested just under his chin as her back cover his chest. Water sloshed around them with even the tiniest of movements. Her own long legs rested along the rim of the tub, forcing her to rest completely against his body.

And Tom liked that immensely.

The fingers on one hand laced with his, bringing them to rest against her growing belly.

"Seems the baby prefers the right side today," Sybil commented, as there was a noticeable bulge on the right side of her stomach. This whole process fascinated them both. There was so much never spoken of about a pregnancy and everything they read or experienced was like a revelation. They had been completely intrigued to discover that Sybil's belly wasn't a perfectly round bump all the time; instead it could be a completely lopsided lump.

Tom smiled against her hair as he cradled their child.

Sybil began leisurely running the fingers of her free hand along the skin of his arm, feeling the tension slowly ebb from his body. "Do you want to talk about it?" she finally asked.

He had leaned his head back, closing his eyes, simply enjoying all the sensations surrounding him; the warm water, the smell of her soap, the delight of her body so close to his. At her questions he merely responded with, "Hmmm." He wasn't sure he did want to talk about.

"Only I think it will help," Sybil pointed out, not ceasing her ministrations.

Tom cracked open one eye, and mumbled, "I think this is helping. I'm rather enjoying this."

Sybil shifted against his lap. "I can tell," she drawled rather saucily.

Tom groaned. She wiggled against him again. "Stop that," he chided playfully. He really couldn't help it. She was beautiful, passionate, and the love of his life. Not to mention with the early months of her pregnancy, the exhaustion and sickness, their intimate life had taken a bit of a holiday, leaving Tom a bit eager.

Sybil settled against him again and Tom couldn't contain the urge to kiss the perfect pale skin of her shoulder.

"Tom?" she tried again, "Are you scared?"

The lips on her paused for a moment, then slowly resumed their path to her ear. There was no use pretending he didn't know what she was asking.

"No, my love," he said into her ear, his deep Irish voice causing a shiver to move through her, "I'm not scared. Just…nervous perhaps."

"Me too," she admitted sadly. The disappointment over not being able to attend Mary's wedding had been a heavy burden. The sudden appearance of the mysterious money had been so exciting, offer such a powerful reprieve to the sadness, that he doubted if Sybil had spared even a moment to consider what it would be like to return home with the former chauffeur in tow, his child growing in her belly.

It seemed he wasn't the only one apprehensive then.

Abruptly Sybil sat up and turned, splashing water over the edge. As she faced him he felt the air leave his body. Her cheeks were pink from the warmth, rivulets of water rolled down her body, along the swell of her full, round breasts, those breasts made larger and more sensitive with pregnancy, and Tom was mesmerized.

A small, shy smile spread across her lips as he reached out with a hand, his fingers barely touching her as he traced the path of a droplet. She caught his hand and tugged, pulling him to sit up, forcing his knees down as she scooted forward, more fully onto his lap, straddling his legs.

Slowly she moved against him, teasing him. Her mouth opened slightly, air moving between her lips, she dusted his face with tiny kisses.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for being willing to make the hard sacrifices."

Tom wrapped his arms around her, drawing her even closer. Cupping her head, he brought her lips fully to his, a gently promise of devotion. Then gentle wasn't enough and soon they were devouring, dueling, demanding.

He broke their kiss, needing to taste more of her. Carefully he nibbled his way down to her breast, and, mindful of their tenderness, lightly licked at a hardened nipple.

Sybil hissed, her fingers tugging at his damp hair.

He glanced up at her, asking permission, ensuring he wasn't hurting.

Sybil's eyes had closed but feeling his hesitation she opened them, nodding. "Just be gentle," she advised.

With the utmost restraint he caressed and suckled, feeling his wife's immediate response as she began moving more fervently against him. His own body was growing frantic as her fingers clutched at him, stroking and biting.

"Tom," she moaned, neither caring at the watery messing being made on the floor. Then she was taking control, pushing him back slightly, smiling as she reached between them to guide him into her.

Neither could suppress a sigh of relief as he filled her, and soon the sounds of their love making filled the tiny room.

She ground against him, harder and harder, soft gasps of delight floating around them. He responded, thrusting up, burying his face against her neck. Then the moment of release came, hard, complete, and beautiful; both holding tightly as waves of pleasure moved between them.

She blinked contentedly at him before settling against his rapidly rising and falling chest. Her own racing heart pressed against his.

Now delicate kisses danced between them, playful and teasing. Their intimacy made stronger by their secret joy.

Tucking a bit of her hair behind her ear, he promised, "We'll be alright Sybil."

He was still nervous, unsure, apprehensive, but as long as she returned to his arms he knew things would be alright, even if they didn't work out they way he knew she hoped.

He could feel her growing heavy against him and knew she was beginning to doze off. He would get her out of the tub, into her nightclothes and into bed, then, being much more relaxed, he would get his article written. He would double check that everything was packed and ready to go for them to leave, and then he would fall into bed beside her, holding her to him.

But before any of that he heard her mumble against him, her breath tickling him. "Knowing I have your love is enough to tell me it will be alright."

He smirked, his heart grateful everyday for this woman. "Good, then let me assure you, I love you."

He felt her smile. "Good. I love you too."

"Then that's enough," he agreed.

The end

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**Eek! Sexytimes ain't so easy to write! Hope it was ok…ha ha ha! Just realized that is probably not the most appropriate comment.**

**Thanks for reading!**


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